


Warm-Up Lap

by SpunSugar



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cars, Fanboy Yuri Plisetsky, Gen, Illegal Activities, M/M, Multi, Otabek gets dragged into shit, Street Racing, amateur racecar driver! Yuri, cursing, drag racing, i'll add more tags with later chapters, mafia, racecar driver! Victor, racecar driver! Yuuri, slightly OOC Yuuri? depending on how you see Eros! Yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 00:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpunSugar/pseuds/SpunSugar
Summary: For six years, Yuuri had dominated the track as a professional race car driver- until he was banned for taking unnecessary risks. That was fine. It had started to bore him, anyways. What wasn't fine was that Yuuri had gotten involved in illegal street racing and even entangled himself with a violent crime boss, only to burn through every single opponent who stood against him in such a short amount of time... at least until a silver-haired driver from overseas showed up for what was supposed to be Yuuri's final race.





	Warm-Up Lap

Yuuri slipped the thick fold of cash into the back pocket of his leather pants, which were almost tight enough to choke the air out of any man who glimpsed him from behind. It would have saved him a lot of trouble.

“This had better be a fucking unforgettable show. I’m risking a lot letting you back in the game for just one race,” barked a heavyset man with a cigar stuffed in the corner of his bristle-lined mouth. The smoke from the cigar was relentlessly strong, like spice and rotting wood. It clouded Yuuri’s nose and made his head ache. The man’s gold wristwatch glinted in the pale yellow light of the garage. Just over his shoulder, two men armed with guns looked impatient for someone to harass.

“You _listening_ , Katsuki?”

Yuuri was already on his way to the door, which was propped open to let out the hot, stale air. Moths swarmed around a fluorescent lamp.

The Baron was full of empty threats. Yuuri was the one they all came to see. Without Yuuri, he wouldn’t have anything. And he knew it.

“Got it,” Yuuri replied dismissively, stepping out into the cool, humid night before he could be bothered with any more bullshit.

 

 

“Yura, you’re sure you want to do this? It could be dangerous, especially if the police show up.” Otabek kept his voice low so that Yuri’s grandpa wouldn’t hear them talking outside the house.

“What are you talking about? We can’t _not_ go!”

Above him, Yuri’s sneakers scrambled for footing on the slippery drain pipe as he shimmied his way down from the bedroom window. He dropped to ground next to Otabek, grabbing onto him to steady himself as he stood.

“We don’t even know if we have the right location,” Otabek reminded him.

“It was _your_ friend. You’re saying he gave us bad information?”

They rounded the side of the house and crossed the dark yard to where Otabek’s bike was parked in the street.

“Of course not, but you know how rumors about these kinds of things can get out of hand. For all we know, there might not even be a race tonight.”

“Goddd,” Yuri groaned. “Stop being such a downer, Beka. I thought you’d be into this! If you don’t want to come, I can just go by myself.”

To be honest, Otabek wasn’t particularly interested in joining an audience of known violent criminals in watching an illegal drag race in an unfamiliar and abandoned part of the city. But he wasn’t going to tell Yuri that. There was no way in hell he was going to let that boy go alone. And Yuri would- Otabek knew that.

“I’m coming with you. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it’s not what you expect.”

Yuri gathered his long, silky hair to one shoulder and lowered the motorcycle helmet over his head, the dark visor obscuring his expression- a nose wrinkled in frustration.

“They say it’s going to be his last race. I have to be there,” he asserted, voice muffled slightly. He passed Otabek his helmet.

Otabek climbed onto the motorcycle and Yuri’s body slid into him, long, slim arms wrapping around his broad chest, squeezing gently, thighs pressing in around him. Otabek could feel Yuri’s heart beating against his back, warming him. Otabek felt the worry start to clear from his head. Somehow everything seemed calm and right when Yuri was riding with him. As long as they stayed together, it should be fine.

Otabek took in the feeling for a moment. Crickets were chirping in the dewy grass. The clouds had parted enough to show some stars. The breeze wet his lungs, invigorating him. The street was empty, streetlights blinking lazily. Yuri was holding him.

Otabek put on his helmet.

“Alright, let’s go.”

He started the bike and revved up just to hear Yuri shout in excitement.

“Fuck yeah- Let’s do this!!”

Yuri’s voice echoed between the houses as they sped away, headed downtown.

 

 

Yuuri hastily tugged on a pair of old driving gloves. He’d worn them for every race since the beginning of his professional career, and he was going to wear them for his last.

“Hey, where are you goin’, baby?”

A man with overly-bleached pseudo dreads like pilled felt, and skin so pale you could see all of his veins, had draped himself over the blockades and was reaching out for Yuuri, who was standing just beyond arm’s length and looking back at him with disdain.

A woman with closely cropped fire-orange hair and shredded clothes jabbed the man hard in the side with her elbow.

“Don’t you know who that is, you fucking idiot?” she scolded in horror. “That’s _Yuuri Katsuki_ , _the_ pro race car driver of our lifetime.”

“Pro, uh? What’s he doing in this shit town then?”

The orange-haired woman whacked him on the back of the head.

“Just watch and learn. He may be retired but it’s only freed up his racing style. He’s a monster behind the wheel. He _owns_ these streets.”

The woman turned back towards Yuuri.

“I’m your-! …Biggest fan…”

Yuuri had already walked away.

 

Six years behind the wheel, sponsors and paychecks… trophies… It had all ended in disgrace when he was banned from the track for reckless driving. The news coverage eventually blew over. But Yuuri hadn’t been able to settle down after that. There was some hunger inside of him that just kept dragging him back to the streets. So he’d found new ways to satisfy it.

But law enforcement was putting heavy pressure on illegal drag racing, and it had become harder and harder to find opportunities to compete that were worth the risk. Yuuri had resorted to a contract with a local crime lord known only as The Baron. He set up races for Yuuri and in exchange, Yuuri drew a crowd- and overlooked the unsavory dealings of the other racers. But even with the generous bribes The Baron handed out like milkshakes, there was no guarantee the police wouldn’t show. So they’d moved operations from public streets to abandoned industrial parks- big corporate locations with wide open space. For now.

 

Yuuri dropped into the familiar embrace of the driver’s seat, pit crew scurrying around him, doing their final checks. He was putting his full trust in them. At this point, he’d already blocked out everything around him. There was only the car and the asphalt. He needed to numb his mind so that anxiety wouldn’t sabotage him before the flag had even dropped. Once the engine was running, the rest would be automatic, like breathing.

The harsh lights high overhead shone on the empty lot like an alien presence. The crowd was pressing in around the barriers as the cars lined up, purring.

“Yuuri Katsuki, if you quit racing after this, I’m going to kick your ass!”

An unusual interruption to Yuuri’s hyper-focused state. Some blond punk had climbed up the gates and was leaning over, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Don’t you dare quit now! I’ve been following you since I was a kid!”

_‘You still are a kid_ ,’ Yuuri thought dryly. He pretended not to hear.

“There’s nobody out there like you. Without you, racing is dead!”

Maybe that was the problem. There _was_ no one else.

One of Yuuri’s crew rapped on the window frame with their calloused knuckles. Yuuri was grateful as they blocked the noisy blond kid from view. The crewmember stuck their head inside, rich brown eyes full of excitement.

“Did you hear? There’s someone new racing today! Some famous Russian.”

The fluffy ends of their twist-out bounced as they shook Yuuri lightly by the shoulder.

“They call him a legend over there. Looks like you might finally have some real competition after all.”

Yuuri felt his chest clench as he glanced down the line of drivers to his right. He caught a glimpse of silver hair in the front seat of a souped-up Bentley coupe with red accents.

“The Baron said he couldn’t find anyone new,” Yuuri muttered.

“I bet he wants to keep you interested. Maybe you’re throwing in the towel too soon, eh?” they goaded.

“Did you have any diagnostics for me?” Yuuri replied blandly.

“Alright, alright, I’ll leave you alone. Be careful out there. The new guy looks ruthless.”

Yuuri closed the window, sealing off the noise from the crowd.

He chanced another look at the newcomer. He was appalled to find the Russian driver staring directly back at him. The Russian winked and Yuuri looked away hurriedly, palms sweating as he gripped the steering wheel.

A legend, huh? Yuuri was going to test that rumor.

The designated flagger strutted her way between the cars to the front of the pack as the drivers revved their engines.

Yuuri’s pulse was picking up, the Russian’s cool smile frozen in his head.

Maybe this wouldn’t be boring after all.

The flagger raised an arm to the sky, handkerchief fluttering tantalizingly in the breeze.

Yuuri started counting in his head.

3…

2…

1-


End file.
